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This kills me. The city of Boston was brought to a standstill Wednesday by a bunch of Lite Brite-lookin’ viral advertisements for Aqua Teen Hunger Force. How on earth is that possible? How on earth are all those The Olds (police, government officials, journalists) so out of touch that they can’t distinguish four batteries and…

I woke up on the East Side this morning. I stepped onto First Avene just before sunrise. The sky was pink and blue. The air was crisp. I hailed a cab, and searched my iPod for a cross town soundtrack. I settled on The Verve’s “Lucky Man,” I thought of Casey Shea and my Open…

I want to be Jeff Tweedy when I grow up. I don’t hide my reverence. I’ve recorded his’s songs more than any single songwriter’s (save maybe REM). I’ve covered “I’m Always In Love,” “A Shot In The Arm,” and “California Stars” (which is really Billy Bragg and Wilco covering Woody Guthrie) on three separate albums,…

I woke up suddenly this morning, anxious with a thousand thoughts for the day ahead. Illness, injury, and weather have kept me off my feet in the last thre months since the New York City Marathon. Something about this morning, though, said, “Now is the time.” So I got out of bed, and went for…

The Malpeques were deliciously briny, and I didn’t have to listen to the president mispronounce “nuclear” once. My father, having read my previous entry, “Blue Monday,” suggested I not watch the State of the Union. “Order a nice bottle of wine,” he suggested. “Have some oysters; January is still a good month. And skip the…

I understand that capitalism abhors a vacuum. So it didn’t surprise me when ad-strewn programming began popping up on pint-size monitors above urinals, and flat screens materialized in the subway. But the elevator? The last bastion of anxious, corporate silence? The shiny, silver monitor screen first made it debut just before the end of last…